


On Building An Android

by Theeniebean



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Temporary Character Death, technically no one is dead, we got robots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theeniebean/pseuds/Theeniebean
Summary: A failed invader and his boyfriend, deceased, travel the galaxy to make the best android ever. As expected, things go like they usually do.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working on Accidental Recalibration, but this came to mind and I had to get it out. It'll be worked on concurrently to that one.
> 
> As always, no spell check on my tablet, so please forgive any typos as I work to catch them. Con-crit welcomed!

If it wasn't such delicate work, Zim would have outsourced it to GIR. Well, even then - he might have outsourced it to a different machine. Something with lasers. Cool lasers. Laser shovels. Shovel lasers. With guns. Big, beefy guns. With eight arms. And--

"You know you're saying that out loud, right?" The mechanical bauble drifting idly above him asks mildly in its pixelated tones, antenna twitching as the frequencies of the words carry across the barren landscape. 

The Irken lets out a gutteral, frustrated screech, hurling his standard, Earth-style trowel with a dumb metal handle several feet away, where it slams into GIR's sandcastle. The castle, devastated, collapses; GIR, too, wails, falling to his robotic knees in defeat. There is nothing but screaming from everyone for miles. 

The floating sphere lets out a simulated sigh, reversing around to face its display toward Zim. Simulated glasses boot up, cartoonishly simple emoji-eyes tick around. "It's only been ten minutes, it can't be that deep down. I scanned--"

"No, I scanned-" Zim thrusts a finger up at the device, antenna twitching just as the orb's blue and silver antenna does. 

"No, I scanned it! My sensors-"

"I built you!"

"Yeah, but only because YOU--" 

Zim's breathing hitches, all movement stopping completely. The device's interface flashes, the display powering off for a brief moment. It boots back up almost immediately, deftly spinning in place a few times as Zim sinks back down into his hole, chewing on his lip. The bauble spirits itself off, magnetically scooping up both the trowel and GIR - much to the displeasure of the former and the elation of the latter. The SIR unit screeches in delight as he is deposited into the hole with his master, clapping his hands in delight.

"Again! Again, Maaaaaaary!" He cries, tossing sand in the air like confetti. The interface flashes another emoji across the display, pixels flickering red as the coarse particles smack into it. The orb magnetizes without warning, immediately locking itself to the small SIR unit. It spins, faster and faster, whirls of color, metal glittering in the unbearable sunlight - 

And then GIR is gone. 

The display only shows dizzy signals as it slows to a rest on the ground beside Zim. The Irken reaches out, hesitantly at first, before setting a gloved hand on the overheated metal, rubbing the robot's antenna idly. "He's just going to ask you to do that again, you know." Even now, GIR's shrieks of delight can be heard like the warcries of an invading army over the horizon. 

The Dib-bot's display clears, finally, followed by a vomitting emoji face. "Why did you even put these sensors in here, you bastard?" The ball rolls across the sand for a while, before righting itself and rising to Zim's eye level. "Who ever heard of a dizzy robot?" The glasses have returned, and the pixels behind them are less than amused. The alien can almost imagine the real ones, still, sometimes. He'll have to remember to sketch them out again when they get back to the ship.

The Irken shakes his head, clearing his throat. "BECAUSE, Dib-stink, I can't have you throwing off your own..." He makes vague hand gestures at the orb. "All of yourself. Doing things like that!" He snatches up the trowel and begins digging again. "Run the scan again, anyway - this planet is an unbearable cesspit that even I cannot endure for any longer than necessary. And I lived on your stinky planet, so that should say something."

The interface display changes, the Dibterface as Zim has come to call it vanishes; instead, various data begins scrolling across the screen as Dib speaks over it. "I'm telling you, it's there. There's literally a chunk of the ore right below you, and if you can't find it, you should've given me hands."

Zim growls, under his breath this time - "If there had been time, Dib, I would have given you more than hands. A neck to strangle, for starters." He doesn't need to look up to know that the display has rocketed back to the original interface, nor that it's repeating the sarcastic "HA"s on loops that Dib has grown so fond of as of late. That's all he's given Zim lately, sarcasm and bite. Not that it isn't deserved, not that Zim hasn't earned every single one.

The Irken stabs at the loose dirt a little bit harder, grinding his teeth. Don't think about it. Don't think about him. Don't think about the blood. Don't think about his broken body, the snapped bones, the--

Success! Zim tosses the trowel over his shoulder without a second glance, ignoring the clang of metal against Minimoose. Dib-bot hovers in, display zooming close over Zim's shoulder as the analyser interface appears. They're both silent for a moment, but for the beeping of the analytics. 

After several agonizing minutes, Zim turns his head. "W e l l?"

"..." The Dibterface turns toward the alien, discouragment written in every pixel. "I ran the sample three times. There are too many impuritiiiiiiiieeeee-" He flies backward as Zim screeches, slamming his hands into the dirt and digging into it with his claws. The alien curses in every language he knows, ripping and tearing at the ore, trying to wrench the small chunk from the earth. His gloves shred, his fingers lacerate, and blood spills - he hates it, he hates this planet, and the countless holes they've left across its surface. They've been here for two weeks, digging meaningless holes, looking at meaningless ore for a meaningless android that will never be built with synthetics that will never--

"ARGH!" The ore finally breaks free, sending Zim flying onto his back, PAK slamming against the ground. Error messages flash through Zim's own mind, but he disregards them. This ore, this stupid hunk of rock. It's not the last thing they need, but... Zim drops it, and doesn't hear the dull thud as it hits the sand. He just wants his Dib back. He just wants Dib. So badly. It hurts so much, and he can't stop the tears this time as he curls forward over the ore, PAK catching the light from the setting sun, sobbing into his own arms. 

The sphere formerly known as Dib, who thinks like Dib and speaks like Dib, who hurts like Dib and loves like Dib, but, like all good Dibs, has a sneaking suspicion that he might not really be Dib if he can't confirm that he isn't himself through sensory testing, watches his Zim break down in the middle of an alien desert and really wishes he had hands. 

He wishes he had something to say, but he wasn't good with kind words when he was alive, and even with access to every dictionary, thesaurus, book, rhyme, poem, and Tweet ever - he knows there's nothing for this. It's all just...exhausting. It's exhausting in a way he couldn't comprehend inanimate objects could be exhausted. He can only imagine how Zim feels - he almost wishes that things had been reversed; but then, a part of him thinks he's always been a better robot than Zim ever could be, which is really saying something.

Dib-bot drifts down toward Zim as the Irken sits up, rubbing the grit from his tear-stained face as he complains about dirt in his eyes. "It's getting late." The sphere begins, the tip of his antenna turning toward the direction of the ship. "We should try again in the morning." The alien nods, subdued, half-heartedly kicking the ore as he rises. He reaches out a hand and pulls the floating bot toward him, holding him in a hug against his chest without a word. 

As they make their way toward the ship along the same dirt path Zim had carved with his boots every day for the past several weeks, idly rubbing Dib-bot's smooth surface, he looks up at the planet-filled sky. GIR prances by, chasing Minimoose, illuminated by stars. The Irken sighs. They should be done by now. An android - it's nothing, that's not even a big deal to build. Just build the shell and be done with it. 

But it wouldn't be perfect. 

But perfect is Dib, and Dib is gone.

But Dib is here! He's here in my arms and he deserves the best! And the best--

Can't even be built; not on this planet, not with these materials. Even if you get this ore, what then? What about the next silicone? And then the processors? And then, and then, and then - 

And then what if he still resents you for killing him?

Zim sucks in a breath, tightening his grip on the sphere in his arms. The Dibterface blinks awake at the pressure change. "We back at the ship already? I didn't even finish Mysterious Mysteries yet." 

"Huh? What? No. Go back to your...bigfeets or, uh." He reels, trying to remember whatever nonsense would have been on that show recently.

"This one is about Camelfritter, which is admittedly a very dumb name, but part of a very real conspiracy network that..." The Dib-bot's antenna twitches under Zim's palm as he launches into an explanation of the show's contents, deviating to go into greater length than the show itself, including his own source material with an enthusiasm that Zim hadn't heard since before the incident. Even with the synthetic lilt to his voice, it was almost like listening to the real thing again. The smile that threatened to creep on his face dashed itself in an instant; he hadn't saved Dib's vocal cords either.

The sooner they got back to the ship; the sooner he could invent an excuse to be alone, the happier he would be.


	2. Chapter 2

The mirror caught him off-guard. It always did. In spite of himself, he turned - rotated slowly on his internal axis, display booting up to the mockery of glasses that Zim had installed after everything else had stablized. He blinked them once, twice - pixels simulating eyes winking even though his own field of vision did not darken in time. No; unless he actively shut off his cameras, nothing changed. 

Just a ball, that's all he was. A floating volleyball, a silver orb of metal and wires. Where he expected to see flesh, hair, unkempt and unshaven, cracked glasses and bags under his eyes... He cocked his head - body, sphere? Unit, maybe; listing to the side, rolling until he was upside down, antenna toward the floor. 

He imagined his teeth grinding, trying to remember the sensation. The pressure of bone against bone, the tension in his jaw, the headache that would inevitably follow. The thickness of his tongue, wet, the tip pressing against his front teeth, like it could shatter them and break free if it just tried hard enough. Every part of him had been stressed, he'd died stressed. How bullshit was that.

He'd died. He'd died, he'd died, he'd died, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, why aren't you breathing, why can't I breathe, where are my lungs, why can't I feel my heartbeat, where are my hands, Zim, what did you do, why can't I--

The display winked off; the sphere sank a few inches. It booted up almost immediately. 

The mirror looked back at him as he righted himself, floating idly as the simulated glasses appeared back on the display. Dib looked at it for another few minutes, quietly, trying to remember what it was like to take deep breaths; mostly, he counted seconds, pretending that each cluster was an inhale, a pause, delay, exhale. 

It was his turn to fly; Zim had made that clear the moment they had gotten on board. They were done on this planet, he was done digging holes. They'd come back later, with better equipment. And then he'd locked himself in their cabin and said something about research and development. 

Dib didn't mind - looking at his partner lately... were they even, anymore? It's not like anyone could get off on a metal ball. He could feel his memory of his teeth cracking under the strain of his clenched jaw - see the cracks forming on the enamel in his mind's eye. What the fuck was the point, anyway? 

All Zim does is yell and shut him out, and all he could do is...float. Just. Float. 

A shrill, internalized beeping filled the hallway, the sphere in the mirror starts to shake; just a bit, just enough. He launches himself forward, rocketing at the mirror, every circuit screaming - crack after crack after crack, thousands of shards erupt around him as he slams into the mirror again and again, fist against wall, and he's screaming; he's crying, sobbing, wailing in his prison, pounding at the walls, but there's no freedom coming. 

He drops to the floor with a heavy clang, gravity lifts failing as he does. He rolls around over the shards of glass, not noticing as the world shifts, upended around him. He's just a ball, just a bunch of wires encased in metal; he may as well roll wherever the ship takes him. It's almost soothing, to just be a mindless ball of nothing, just watching the world roll by. 

Zim's booted feet skid to a halt in front of him some time later - he doesn't know how long, he'd shut off his internal clock - knees slamming to the ground, heedless of the shards. Dib's audio feeds kicks back on, registering panicked tones as the alien turns him over, "--okay? Dib? Dib? What happened?" The Irken faces Dib's front camera toward him, worry etched on every feature of his green face. He has bags under his own eyes, lines Dib hadn't noticed before - smudges of ink and traces of dirt from hours earlier. His imaginary inner-self swallows, wondering when it was they'd last slept. 

He wakes his display instead. "It's. I'm okay." Even through the synthetic voice, it's obvious he's lying.

Zim slams him against his chest in a crushing hug, alighting all of his pressure sensors. "I can't lose you, not again." He whispers into Dib's frame. "Please do not scare Zim like that." He curls himself around the sphere, sitting cross-legged on the floor among the remains of the mirror. 

Inside, Dib tries to remember the warmth of Zim's hugs, how they made his guts twist and his toes curl. He wants to put his hands on either side of Zim's face, brush his antenna just so - in that one way that made him chirp from head to toe. To press his lips against every inch of his skin. He wants to take Zim by the hand and lead him back to their bedroom, to not worry about the mess in the hallway, and just slip under the sheets together for the first time in months.

All he can think about is how it felt to grind his teeth.


	3. Chapter 3

Their bed was wide enough to accomodate an extraordinarily tall human male. One who, when given the opportunity and time, would graciously stretch his arms wide, either fingertip touching the stitching at the sides of the mattress. His feet did not hang off the bottom, nor did his head loll off the top. He had requested it specifically - too many years of stiff necks and poor posture, and Zim had been more than happy to oblige. After all - more bed meant more room for him as well.

Now, Zim sat in the center, bundled in a nest of their blankets, his eyes and antennae peeking out as the screen flashed in front of him. The sound was turned low, casting flickers of light against their quite frankly decaying suite. Dib had never been the cleanest of individuals, and he...well. The weight of the sphere in his lap had carried a bit more of a load than the laundry usually did. 

The Irken slid his bare hands over the cool surface, careful not to obfuscate the camera. Their nightly routine had changed since... Well; Before, Zim could touch the Dib, and be touched, without reservation, with reckless abandon. His claws could dig into the human's flesh just so, just enough to leave thin, red trails. They would talk, they would whisper. Secrets, ideas, plans. Foolhardy optimisms, dreams for the future. Concerns, with increasing frequency, worries, fears, as though they could not do this, it was foolish to attempt to fight the Tallest - louder arguments, heated words, and the words would bite; they would sting, and they would gnaw, and rip, and they would press each other closer in the sheer ecstacy of their utter contempt for each other. 

But now, they sat. 

They sat until one or both of them grew bored and feigned a recharging cycle. Neither spoke, not really; occasionally, they commented on whatever programme they had randomly selected. Other times, GIR would interrupt - those nights were welcomed, now, a chaotic respite from a growing, cancerous tension that Zim could not be sure was real. 

...but, of course it was. The mirror in the hallway was proof-positive. The silence of the Dibsph-- of Dib. It said enough. 

Gently, he shifts himself from his nest, resting his head against Dib's monsterous tomb of a body, knowing his antennae are likely locking his line of sight. "I am going to check our heading. Zim will return shortly."

"Oh, uh--" Dib's soft blue interface lights up. "Should I pause it?" 

Zim shakes his head, disentangling his limbs as he rises. "No, I am aware that the humans rightfully obtain the bridge from the cowardly Goatman. Please do not stop on my account." 

"Alright." Dib's interface has already powered back down before he has reached their suite's door. It opens and closes again behind him with a quiet hiss, leaving Zim just as alone as he had been. 

To his left, thousands of images of GIR reflect around the original, playing among the wreckage from earlier. The little robot offers his master a quick wave, mirrored en masse - he is too distracted by his own mirrorverse to be of much trouble tonight. Zim presses his palms to his eyes, rubbing with gusto. The flight deck, right. 

Not that he expected much to be different from earlier - Faron VI was several days away yet, and nothing much existed between this point and there. Buuuuuuut he could, perhaps, find a new route, maybe one that...shaved a few minutes off? Even one minute of reduced flight time would be better than one more minute of silence spent between them. Zim rubbed his face again, wondering when everything started feeling so... No! No more brooding! It was charting time. With a sneer, he flicked the appropriate switches, diverting power to bring up the holographic mapping systems. He could figure this out, and then he will figure Dib out. He is Zim, Master of Navigation! And also Dibs. But currently, Navigation!

...which is what he was telling himself two hours later, when Dib floated into the room to find him gesturing wildly at a route that was several days in the opposite direction of their intended target. "DIB-LOVE! ZIM HAS FIGURED IT OUT!" He screeches, gesturing wildly. "If we adjust the course to slingshot around Aeg NINE, and THEN traverse the Sarova Cluster, and THEN make our way through the Klaova Asteroid Belt, we will arrive thirty seconds earlier!" He launches himself forward, slapping a hand on either side of the orb. "PRAISE ME! PRAISE ME!" 

The Dibterface blinks once, twice. "...uh...no?"

Zim's face falls immediately, as do his hands. "...n-no?" 

Dib flies over his shoulder to the navigation panel, docking himself. "Why on earth would we fly through an asteroid belt, Zim?" He pauses, programming visibly shifting through the files. "...doesn't look like you changed my pre-programmed course...good..." 

"...good...?"

"So we should be there in..."

Zim places a hand on top of the console for a moment. He closes his eyes, listening to Dib's synthesized voice drone on and on as he clenches and unclenches his fist, slamming it into accumulation of intergalactic takeout cups and bags built up along Dib's side of the command center, sending them clattering to the floor. The mouldering remnants of soda drips restlessly at his feet. He says nothing, opting to shift toward the pilot's seat, pulling his legs up against his small frame. The Irken rests his chin on his knees, looking up at Dib. "You may continue." 

The Dibterface blinks. "...o...okay. I was...done, though." He pauses, detaching himself from the systems, floating with a hesitancy toward his companion. "Are you okay?" 

Zim considers this; he has many answers. He is not fine, though the acts against the trash did feel good. He is tired, though he does legitimately need to recharge so that isn't particularly difficult to explain. He would like to be honest with his Dib, but he is afraid. Zim does not like fear. He would like to say that he misses the feeling of Dib's flesh, but he fears that the Dib will begin yelling at him again. He wants to apologize, properly, for leading them into that death trap. He wants to fall to his knees and beg Dib to forgive him for not being eviscerated instead. He wants to tell him that he no longer enjoys closing his eyes for fear of the images he sees behind them, but he worries that Dib sees far worse. He does not want to think of the damage PAK legs can do to a human anymore. Zim is so tired of thinking. "Zim hates maps." This is not what he had intended to say. "I would like to return to the bed chamber now. I need to recharge my power cells." 

Dib drifts close to Zim's head, knocking himself against the Irken gently. "Okay, space boy. I could use some sleep too." He drops his anti-grav and plops himself down into the alien's lap without warning. Zim barely catches him, the little shit. He gives the ball a rub gently as he stands, just enough to trip the sensors. He almost does not notice the low, responsive rattle as they make their way back to their quarters. 

"I miss you." Dib whispers as the door to their bedroom shuts softly behind them, audio carrying on the lowest setting he can trigger. Zim shuts his eyes, his spooch constricting. His grip on his little sphere tightens so fiercely that he fears he might shatter him. 

"I miss you, too."


End file.
